30!

Proper attention was paid to the departure of my 20's. It was a four day event that left me feeling closer to 50 by the time all the candles were blown out. Lucky girl that I am, I landed on my feet in a great area of Japan and have made some very close friends in a short amount of time. They took shifts (some of them pulling doubles) keeping the party going strong for the long weekend until Zoe and Ashley arrived on the 21st.

On the 3rd day of celebration we descended upon this strange little local bar called Hasta Manana. It looks like it belongs in Tucson very close to the U of A, and there is never anyone in there. I've always thought it looked inviting because it has a glass facade and you can see what the bar looks like and who is there before entering. This is not the case with most Japanese establishments. I guess privacy trumps curb appeal in this society as most front windows are frosted and the ubiquitous hospitality curtain hangs right at eye level. These places fascinate me but also make me a little nervous. I like to spy for a while before walking in the front door, but with the zero visibility policy in effect throughout most of Japan, you just don't know what you're gonna get. An entire bar filled with drunk salary men is bad, but not the worst you can do.

Hasta Manana

My favorite dive, featuring the typical clandestine entry.

There are also "hostess bars" where you pay dearly for your beer and edamame and coincidentally, one of the 7 or 8 female bartenders gives you her undivided attention, laughs at your jokes, listens to your woes and keeps your drink full. It's basically paying to be liked, so think Delta Delta Gamma for old tired dudes after work. Most of these places are legit and the girls are just there to be excellent company while you sing Neil Diamond songs and throw back some sake, but some hostess bars are thinly veiled prostitution operations in which the hostesses have business cards and a room reserved at the love hotel across the street. Now, given my illiterate status, you can understand my hesitance about ducking the curtain and sauntering into a bar that may not be designed with me in mind, and then embarrassing myself further with busted Japanese trying to make a graceful exit.

I'm getting to the point, I promise. During the hour we were in Hasta Manana, a group of Japanese people had a parallel experience as they approached the bar, half opened the door and froze upon seeing eleven foreigners occupying the entire front room. They stood on the threshold, mouths open, unable to advance into the bar or tell their friends behind them what they had stumbled upon. Had the occupation been reinstated? Had they crossed through some international vortex when they passed the pachinko parlor? Sometimes I think the Japanese must feel about foreigners the way I feel about monkeys. One or two are cute, but I don't trust them in numbers.

Monkeys in Numbers

After a few awkward moments of our groups sizing each other up in front of the lingerie vending machine (you read that right), one of my party came to their senses and said "Daijoubu desu, Ohairi kudasai." (It's alright, come in.) They bowed their way past us and retreated to the back corner where they could observe us covertly behind a cloud of cigarette smoke.

And then at our usual restaurant, Subohachi, across the street

opening presents

At the restaurant, Megumi kept me engrossed in conversation while the rest of my friends discreetly passed around party poppers and synchronized their watches to scare the hell out of me. I noticed the silence, looked up and said "what?" as they pulled the strings and 10 loud bangs were followed by confetti covering the table. I jumped out of my skin, but was pleased to note my progress in not diving beneath the table and checking for entry wounds as I would have in Philly. In some countries, a loud bang simply means confetti. Innocence is also bliss.

and more waiting for me at home

If you saw some of these presents you'd be laughing too.

After the restaurant it was back to my place to finish off the evening right with some 7-11 brand vodka and Mario Cart Wii. A few of my friends from Tokyo were staying overnight but I had warned them that we could not fall into our usual habit of crawling into bed at dawn, as I was picking up Zoe and Ashley from the Airport the following day and wanted to have the physical ability to show my enthusiasm. When we got to my house, there was a voice mail from Zoe saying that they had missed their flight to Chicago after waiting in a three hour check-in line in Atlanta, and Japan Airlines was claiming their tickets from Ohare to Tokyo couldn't be transferred to a later time. I was beyond deflated at hearing the news, but luckily, my friends were quick to point out some possible solutions, keep me drinking and keep my mind off things until I got the call the next morning that they were on the plane. But that's a post for another night....